Rekindle

8

I tried to talk about it with Dexter, the person I could trust the most, but he didn't care. Bridget killing someone point blank was a regular occurrence, and he found no problem with it. And frankly couldn't understand why I was so freaked out. I gave up on trying to talk about it with him and went to my room, not eating much, not sleeping much, not living much.

Isolationism became my new policy. I was constantly paranoid and constantly pacing in my room, only coming out for the bathroom and food. I didn't drink much in that time span in fear I'd denounce myself, or do something crazy to end up with my blood on the floor. I kept trying to draw up an escape plan, but Charlie could've had tabs on me at any time. He didn't keep the security cameras off, no possible way. What other explanation is there? He had them on and spied on whoever he liked, keeping an eye on me especially. There truly was no one to trust. The trust I thought I had with Dexter was as feeble as soap bubbles.

Along with the isolation came depression over the next few days. There was just no hope in anything, and I found it difficult to find a reason to keep going if I was destined to die. And I really missed Asher. It was stupid, but I missed him so goddamn much. I wanted one more night with him for some closure and maybe an apology, but that was another death wish. I had nowhere to run, not even home. Everything was lost, pointless, and I was expiring soon. If I stayed so pent up and unstable, I'd be exterminated without hesitation. I mean, I'd serve no purpose if I couldn't pull myself out of the paranoia. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. I was hopeless. I swore I could hear Bridget's voice saying it in my head.

Friday night I forced myself out of my room and went downstairs, immediately going for the whiskey. After a couple drinks I was no longer depressed, just very cynical. Bridget came up and talked to me for the first time in days.

"Nice to see your face, for once. What've you been doing?"

"You know," I replied, pausing for a drink and a prayer to get me through the night. "Drawing."

"Ah," she began, delicate finger lightly tracing the rim of her wine glass. We were situated at the kitchen table again, where everyone was too caught up in their own conversations to listen to ours. "Someday you should sell your work," she said. "You could make a living off of it."

"Someday," I responded, staring at my empty glass. I was too lazy to get up and pour another, so I set it on the table and leaned back, trying to get the alcohol to clear my mind. The silence between us was only pushing the question I had inside me, however, and I ended up asking it anyway. "Why did you kill him?"

"Who?" she lightheartedly replied, eyebrows raised as she took a large gulp that didn't stop. She emptied the glass.

"The guy you shot in the head," I said.

"He already fucked me over once, I wasn't going to give him a third chance." Bridget's cheeks were beginning to flush, speech slurring as she set the drained glass down with distaste.

"Yeah, but he asked you for mercy," I said, leaning my elbows on the table. "Didn't you feel any remorse?"

"Hell no," Bridget jovially stated. She poured another glass of the wine she appeared to dislike.

"Why?" I pressed. She stood to get the whiskey, pouring more into my glass for me. I bitterly took it, swirling it around before taking a swig.

"If you ever run the business you'll understand, Lace. It's just so bothersome to deal with."

"If I ever run the business?" I asked.

"I'll probably die young, you know. So you're next in line." She held her glass up to mine and smiled brightly. "Cheers."